Between Heaven And Hell
by fanboy-anonymous
Summary: Stanford University, 2005. Sam thought it would be easy to leave his old life behind, but he was wrong. All he can think about is Dean. And little does he know, the past is about to catch up with him... Contains "Wincest". 5 Chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"**BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL"**

**chapter one**

Sam Winchester sighed deep in his chest, his warm breath spreading a haze of steam across the window in front of him.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the cold glass, staring out at the rain. There was a solemn, brooding look in his deep green eyes; something about the rain always made him reflective, even a little sad.

Something about the rain always made him think of Dean…

Sam grimaced. It still hurt to think that name, even after all this time. The whole time that Sam had spent living and studying at Stanford, he had been trying to keep his mind off the past. Mostly, it had worked - he barely had time to think about anything between classes, study groups, homework, and dating Jess - but occasionally, on quiet, rainy days like this, he couldn't help but let his mind drift back to the days he'd spent hunting demons with his father and brother.

In these quiet moments - away from parties, music, and friends - he often wondered if he'd made the wrong choice by leaving so soon, or at all. There were times when he thought about what it would have been like to stay with his father and brother on their never-ending road-trip, with knives, guns and rock salt loaded in the trunk.

There were times when he wished he hadn't left things the way he had with Dean. He hadn't even said a proper goodbye.

But how could you say goodbye when your brother was also your lover…?

A dull ache hit Sam's chest. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, listening to the raindrops beat against the window. He pulled his knees in closer against his chest and wrapped his arms around them, curling up into a ball inside the window seat.

Tears formed in his eyes and his stomach shuddered, threatening to produce a sob at any moment.

"Sam?!" Jess's voice called from the other room, shattering Sam's quiet thoughts.

His head shot away from the window as he heard the front door of the apartment click shut. He slid out of his seat and stood up, wiping the moisture away from his eyes and ruffling the front of his shaggy brown hair so that it fell in front of them, hiding them slightly.

Jess appeared in the doorway. "Hey, baby," she said, breathlessly, wringing the rainwater out of her long blonde hair. "It's wild out there."

Sam feigned a smile, staring down at the floor and nervously rubbing the back of his neck. Jess padded across the floor towards the dresser and immediately started to strip, throwing her wet clothes onto the wicker chair in the corner of the room.

"Oh, um... I was thinking..." she said, pulling off her jeans, her back to Sam, "about my costume for the Halloween party..." She spun around, left only in her bra and panties, and stepped towards Sam, with a playful smile on her face. She reached out and traced a line down his chest and stomach, until her fingertips were at his belt buckle.

"How do you feel about a sexy nurse...?" she asked seductively, already unbuckling the belt.

Sam closed his eyes. "Sounds, um... sexy," he said, clearing his throat. Jess's fingertips had worked their way up inside his shirt and were drifting across his abs. When Sam looked down at her, she had a kittenish smirk on her beautiful face.

He sighed. He wasn't up for this at all. His mind was still wandering through the past, through memories of Dean. But he knew what he had to do...

He knew what he had to do to forget...

He leaned down and kissed her on the lips, maybe a little too forcefully, and heard her moan as she responded, slipping one arm around the back of his neck. He picked her up with little effort, tossing her up into his strong arms, and heard her squeal excitedly as he carried her across to the bed and threw her down.

She peered up at him, biting her lip and grinning, with one bra strap slung across her arm and her legs spread wide apart. Sam stood at the foot of the bed, gazing down at her from under the wisps of his brown hair, and slowly, teasingly, began to pull the belt out of the loops on his jeans. He threw it to the floor, and pulled off his t-shirt, tossing that aside too.

Jess's breath quickened as her hungry eyes roam over his torso – long, lean and muscular. Seeing the desire in her eyes, Sam couldn't help but smile a little. He kept his eyes on her as he ran his fingers across his chest, down over his stomach, and gently grabbed his crotch, massaging it. Jess made a small noise in her throat, gripping at the bed sheets with her fingernails.

Sam slowly unbuttoned and unzipped the fly on his jeans and let them drop to the floor, leaving him in only a pair of black boxer shorts. Jess shifted forward until she sat on the edge of the bed, her legs wrapped around Sam's. Looking up at him, she slid her fingertips inside the legs of the shorts, and then gently tugged them down past Sam's hips. They slid down to join his jeans at his ankles, and he stepped out of them, kicking them aside.

Jess appraised Sam in his full glory – standing naked, tall and powerful above her – every muscle, every inch of him perfect. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen...

Sam leaned down and crouched over her, laying her back on the bed. He lifted one of her long, smooth legs and placed it over his shoulder, kissing down the inside of her thigh until he was at her pink cotton panties. He gripped them with his fingertips and pulled them aside, kissing and licking the warm, moist flesh beneath until she was moaning, her head tilted back and her eyes closed tight.

"Sam..." she hissed through gritted teeth. "Oh, God... Sam... Make love to me..."

He was ready now – the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end; his muscles were tensed and primed for action; his cock had sprung to life and was now fully erect, rock hard and rubbing against the soft bed sheets.

"I want you inside me, Sam," Jess whispered, and Sam gazed up from in between her legs to find her staring back at him, here eyes burning with lust.

He gripped the pink cotton panties and yanked them off so hard they almost ripped in half. Jess yelped in shock and then laughed, unhooking her bra and throwing it over the edge of the bed. Sam got to his knees and positioned himself in between her legs, his erection pointing out in front of him.

"Get a condom," he said, gesturing towards the drawer next to the bed. Jess glanced behind her and then turned back to Sam, shaking her head.

"It's okay," she said, "don't worry about it."

"Jess..." Sam started.

"Really, it's okay. I'm on the pill."

"I still think... I... I really think we should..."

"Okay, fine," she sighed, leaning back to open the drawer and pulling out a small yellow packet. She ripped it open with her teeth and pulled out the condom, tossing it to Sam. He slipped it over the end of his cock and slid it all the way down to the base.

He immediately moved down on her, using his hand to guide the tip of himself inside her, and then slowly pushed forward until he was all the way in. She let out a long, strangled moan, arching her back and running her fingers through her hair.

Sam started moving, slow and tender at first, and then thrusting harder, deeper, lifting her leg back over his shoulder. His breathing became more jagged and uneven, matching hers, and he leaned down until his body was pressed against hers, thrusting quicker, kissing her neck. He closed his eyes, listening to her moans intensify until they finally reached a crescendo and tailed off, her body trembling beneath his.

But he wasn't finished yet. He kept going, his body crushed against hers as he drove into her again and again. At last, he could feel the impending climax building up deep in the pit of his stomach, spreading out through all of his limbs until a loud, guttural groan rumbled up from his chest and escaped his lips.

"Oh, fuck!" he cried, thrusting forward once more, letting the feeling wash through him and then subside. When he opened his eyes again, Jess was looking up at him.

"Wow," she said, breathlessly, her hand rubbing his bicep.

"Mmmm..." Sam moaned, leaning down and kissing her gently on the lips. "That was-"

"Amazing," Jess finished his sentence, laughing.

"Yeah," Sam grinned, pulling away from her and getting up off the bed. He went into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar, and turning on the shower. He pulled off the condom and briefly studied the gluey white fluid in the tip, before tying a knot in the end and tossing it into the wastepaper basket underneath the sink.

"Hey, Sam?" Jess called from the bedroom.

"Yeah?" Sam yelled back, hesitating before he stepped into the shower.

"You need some company in there?"

"Um, a-actually..." Sam stuttered, "I'm just gonna wash up and head out. I've got a class this afternoon."

"Okay," Jess sighed, and Sam listened as she opened and closed drawers, getting dressed. "I guess I'll go hang out with Angie, plan our costumes for tomorrow night."

"Okay," Sam replied quietly, his voice almost breaking. His lower lip was trembling. As soon as he heard the front door of the apartment close, Sam finally let the cry escape his chest, his stomach shaking as he wept for the first time in months. He sat on the edge of the bathtub, hanging onto the shower curtain with a tight fist. The bathroom was filling with steam from the shower.

He tried to wipe the moisture away from his eyes, but the tears kept coming. Loud, uncontrollable sobs were emanating for deep in his chest, and he couldn't do a thing to stop it.

"No..." he whimpered to himself, staring through the hot salty tears at the cold, white floor tiles. "Please..."

He couldn't handle this any more. He couldn't bear having to live with his feelings for Dean buried deep inside him, burning him from the inside out.

He couldn't bear living like this. It was like purgatory – not knowing where his father and brother were, what they were doing, or even if they were alive or dead.

Images raced through his mind – images of Dean lying dead and rotting in bloodstained clothes, in the basement of some abandoned asylum. The victim of a ghost hunt gone bad... Or comatose, hooked up to a life-support machine in some unknown hospital in some distant backwoods town. No real credit cards or I.D. No next of kin. Just another nameless drifter waiting to die.

The images made Sam want to bash his own skull against the wall just to make the thoughts disappear, and did nothing to stop the tears that were spilling down his cheeks.

He knew he should move on, forget about his old life. It's what he had always wanted to do. But this life – Stanford, Jess, friends, normality... it had all turned out to be so much lonelier than he had ever imagined.

He didn't really fit in here, and he knew it...


	2. Chapter 2

"**BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL"**

**chapter two**

_Sammy...? Sammy...? _

_Sam...?_

The memory of his brother's voice was snaking its way around Sam's brain, hissing in his ears, faint but undeniable. It sounded so real, so close, that Sam had to remind himself Dean wasn't standing right next to him, whispering in his ear.

Sam rolled the cold bottle of beer across his forehead, letting the beads of condensation dampen his brow. His skin was still warm and clammy from standing underneath the scalding hot shower for so long.

He sat slumped in the wicker chair in the bedroom, a towel draped over his lap, and two empty bottles at his feet. He had skipped afternoon classes, choosing instead to stay in the steam-filled bathroom, scrubbing his skin until it hurt. But it had proved to be an unsuccessful distraction from the real pain – the one pulsing deep beneath his skin.

When he had finally emerged, stepping out into the bedroom and checking the clock, he realized he'd been in there for over an hour. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he noticed that the skin on his chest, arms and thighs was bright pink, almost raw. But he didn't care. It would fade.

He padded into the kitchen, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him, and took an armful of beer bottles out of the fridge, carrying them back to the bedroom.

Hours passed. He was now sipping on the fifth bottle, and had swallowed three or four pills he'd found in a drawer. It helped a little; he found that he wasn't able to think about much through all the fuzziness in his head. He just sat there, silent and still, as the sun set and the room was left in darkness.

It took him a while to realize that Jess hadn't come home yet. He looked at the clock. It was after 10 p.m.

As he shifted in the chair, ready to stand up, his vision suddenly blurred and he had to grip the the arm-rest to steady himself. The far-off sound of smashing glass echoed in his head, and he felt a puddle of cool liquid rush around his foot before he looked down and realized he had dropped the bottle.

The front door of the apartment clicked shut, and Jess's silhouette appeared in the doorway. "Sam?" she said. Her voice sounded tinny and strange, like he was hearing it through and old tape recorder. She felt along the wall for the light switch.

"Why are you in the dark...?" she asked.

The light clicked on and Sam stood upright, his vision shaking again, and he held the towel in front of his crotch with one hand. Even through the cloudiness inside his brain, Sam knew it was a weird gesture – she had seen him naked countless times before. But she had never seen him in _this_ state before. He was embarrassed. He felt vulnerable, exposed on an entirely new level, and he didn't want her to see him at all.

The confused look on Jess's face turned to one of disappointment as she studied him carefully. "You didn't go to class, did you?" she sighed.

Sam stared at the floor, shaking his head. He couldn't look at her. He didn't want her to know what was going on inside his head.

"Sam, what's going on with you?" she asked, taking off her jacket and rounding the bed. "You've been acting so weird lately. I feel like you're shutting me out. I just – " She stopped mid-sentence when she saw the broken bottle and spilled beer on the floor.

"I had an accident," Sam whispered. He still didn't look up. "I was just about to – "

"Are you _drunk_?" Jess interrupted, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear.

Sam nodded.

"Since when do _you_ get drunk?" she asked incredulously, folding her arms across her chest. "Sam, you're like the only student in the history of college who calls it a night after two beers."

"I'm sorry," Sam sniffed. His eyes were filling with tears.

Jess stepped closer, lifting his chin so that their eyes met. Studying his solemn green eyes carefully, she asked, "What is this all about, Sam?"

_Dean! Dean! It's about Dean! Tell her it's about Dean! _His brain was screaming. But he said nothing, shrugging his shoulders and looking back down at the floor. Jess sighed.

"I'll clean it up," she said, turning and heading for the kitchen. "Don't move or you'll cut your feet."

When she came back, Sam's towel was lying discarded on the floor at the foot of the bed. He was stretched out on his stomach on top of the sheets, fast asleep.

…

Jess woke during the night. Sam was whimpering in his sleep, muttering something under his breath, and restlessly shifting onto his side, and then onto his back.

His face was set in an expression of pain, his brow creased into a frown. Jess inched closer to him, brushing up against his soft, warm skin, and put her head on his shoulder, her hand resting on his firm chest.

He was whispering something, so quietly that she had to hold her breath to her it.

"Please..." he whined softly. "Please, Dean... I'm sorry."

_Dean? _Jess thought. _Didn't Sam have a brother called Dean...?_

Just then, Sam's body started shaking gently, like he was shivering. Or was he crying? Jess held him in close, trying to comfort him, not knowing whether she should wake him up or not. Was he having a nightmare, or was this just some distant childhood memory playing out in his dreams?

Sam turned back on his side and held himself in closer to her, his head resting underneath her chin, his warm breath against her neck.

"Dean..." he whispered, louder this time. He moved closer against her, their legs entwining, and Jess could feel his erect cock pressed against her. "Dean..."

Things were quiet and still for a few moments, before Sam's head suddenly shot away from her, and he peered back at her through sleepy eyes, a confused, almost disappointed look on his face. He sighed, moving away from her embrace and rolling onto his back.

"Are you okay?" Jess inquired. She propped herself up on her elbow and stared over at him as he rubbed his eyes vigorously and then stared up at the ceiling.

"Oh, God..." he whispered.

"Sam?" Jess demanded. "What were you dreaming about...?"

…

**Indiana**

**2001**

The mattress springs squeaked rhythmically, and the wooden bed frame was creaking loudly underneath them with every thrust. Their bodies were writhing together, their legs entwined, their groins pressed together.

The clothes Sam had been trying to pack for Stanford were now scattered around them on the floor, along with the ones they'd just taken off...

Sam slid his tongue along his lips, wetting them, and leaned in for another breathless kiss. Dean responded immediately, leaning up and pressing his face into Sam's, their mouths crashing together and Sam's tongue slid into Dean's mouth. Dean ran his fingers up through Sam's hair and gripped it tight, holding them together. He didn't want to let go.

Sam wasn't going to be able to last much longer. He could already feel the orgasmic flutter in his stomach, and he pulled his lips away from Dean's, breathing hard, their foreheads pressed together.

"Oh, God..." Sam gasped. "Dean, I..."

"Me too," panted Dean, his eyes closing tight.

They both came, grunting loudly, their faces pressed together. The thick, pearly white semen erupted from both of them simultaneously, creating a puddle of sticky mess across both of their abdomens as they lay gasping for breath, their bodies pressed hard together.

They stayed that way for a while, half-awake, in a post-orgasmic daze, before Sam pulled away and got to his feet. He went into the bathroom and brought back some tissues, tossing some of them to Dean, who started wiping the mess away from his stomach. Sam did the same, discarding of the tissue in the wastepaper basket.

As they cleaned up and got dressed, an awkward silence had fallen over the room. Sam said nothing. He barely even looked at Dean. If he looked at Dean for too long, it only reminded him of how he felt for his brother. If he looked at Dean, he knew he might never go to Stanford.

Sam returned to packing the suitcase. Dean buttoned the last button on his shirt, waiting for Sam to speak, but he didn't. Dean turned and made his way out of the room, pausing in the doorway.

"Sam," he said, without turning around. "I'm not going to beg you to stay. But please, just think about what you're doing."

Sam continued packing. _Don't turn around,_ he thought. _Don't look at him._

"You know Dad _is_ proud of you, Sam," Dean continued. "And so am I… And I want you to stay, but I won't stop you from going if that's what you really want. Just think about it."

He left, closing the door behind him.

Sam continued to pack in silence, hot tears blurring his vision.

…

The night went by without a single word passing between the Winchester brothers. Their father didn't speak either. The three of them sat in silence in the motel room – John intently studying his journal; Dean watching TV with the hood of his jacket up, hiding his face; Sam sitting on the bed, with a pad of notepaper in his hand.

He was trying to write a letter to Dean. Something that would explain why he couldn't stay. Something that would explain how he really felt about Dean, and how much it was going to hurt to leave. But he couldn't find the words.

What could he possibly say that he hadn't said a thousand times before...? How could he possibly say goodbye to the one person he loved more than anything else in the world...?

After hours of deliberating, starting sentences and then scrubbing them back out, Sam ripped away all of the sheets of paper he had written on, and was left with only one last sheet.

He scribbled in the centre of the page the only three words he felt he needed to say:

_I love you._

Sam folded up the piece of paper and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans, glancing over at his brother. Dean's face was still hidden beneath the hood of his jacket, his head turned in the direction of the TV. Their father had fallen asleep on the couch, his journal lying open on his chest.

Sam went to speak, then stopped himself. He undressed, throwing his clothes over the end of his bed, and slid under the sheets. His head had barely hit the pillow when the world went black.

…

_Beep! Beep!_

Sam's head shot up off the pillow, and he instinctively grabbed for the clock beside his bed, shutting off the alarm. It was six a.m.

He glanced around the room. The alarm didn't seem to have woken his father, or Dean. They were both still sound asleep.

A wave of nausea flooded through Sam's stomach. This was it. It was time to go.

He dressed in silence, brushed his hair and ate a protein bar, washing it down with a glass of water. Every now and again, he stopped to make sure his father and brother were still asleep. Slowly and quietly, he zipped up his jacket and leant down, sliding the small suitcase of his worldly possessions out from under the bed, and slinging it over his shoulder.

Sam crept around Dean's bed, standing over him and watching him sleep. Dean lay on his stomach, his arms wrapped around the pillow. The sheets were tangled around his body, slung low across his back and pulled away from his left side, revealing part of his bare ass and thigh. Sam's gaze moved across his brother's naked skin, and he gulped hard. He had to concentrate hard on keeping himself rooted to the spot, to keep himself from giving in, undressing and sliding under the sheets with Dean.

"Please..." he whispered softly. "Please, Dean... I'm sorry."

Sam closed his eyes tight. He dug deep into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the folded piece of paper. He leaned down and, just as Dean moved his arm out from under the pillow, Sam pushed the note into Dean's palm, gently closing his fingers around it. Dean moaned lightly and shifted his body against the mattress, but didn't wake.

Sam back away slowly, taking one last look at his sleeping brother, before turning and opening the motel room door, sliding outside, and closing it silently behind him...


	3. Chapter 3

"**BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL"**

**chapter three**

**Stanford**

**2005**

"Well...?" Jess demanded. "Sam, what were you dreaming about?"

"Nothing," Sam shrugged, turning away from her and throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. The image of Dean, naked and writhing underneath him, was scorched into Sam's brain. He covered his face with his hands and then ran them through his hair. "It was just a nightmare."

He stood up, throwing the sheets aside, and headed for the bedroom door. Jess watched him intently. The moonlight pouring in through the window cast a silvery-blue glow over his naked body, highlighting his muscular shoulders and back.

"Where are you going?" She called after him.

"I need a glass of water," he said over his shoulder, disappearing around the door frame.

Exasperated, Jess hopped out of bed and followed him. Rounding the corner into the kitchen, she was met with Sam's tall frame silhouetted against the orange glow from the street lamp outside the window. He was leaning against the sink, his arm raised to his mouth. Jess could hear him swallow hard as he gulped down the water before banging the empty glass back down on the worktop. He panted for breath, drawing the back of his hand across his mouth.

Jess waited in silence for a few long moments.

"Is this about the condom thing?" she asked finally. It had been on her mind all day.

"What...?" Sam replied, his voice calm and quiet.

"I'm not trying to trap you, Sam," Jess said, suddenly angry. "If that's what you're worried about."

"Jess..." Sam sighed. He really didn't want to get into this argument with her again, but if it stopped her asking questions about the dream then it was worth it – he didn't want to have to tell her that he'd been dreaming of the last time he'd had sex with his older brother...

Jess stepped towards him. "Then why did you freak out earlier?" she asked, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing her head against his chest. "I told you, I'm on the pill. You don't have to wear a condom."

"Well I think I do," Sam said quickly, freeing himself from her embrace and stepping away. "I don't want to take that risk, Jess. I think it would be a really bad idea for you to get pregnant."

"Right now, or ever...?"

Sam was silent. He turned away from her, staring into the darkness.

He didn't know what to tell her. Not the truth... Not that he had been having vivid, disturbing nightmares about her – on the ceiling, covered in flames, dripping with blood. Not that his mother had died the exact same way, more than twenty years ago...

He didn't know what the dreams meant, if anything at all, and he didn't want to scare her for no reason. Besides, she would probably think he was crazy.

Maybe he was...

Sam strode back to the bedroom, quickly followed by Jess. He stopped in front of the tall wooden dresser, gripping the edges and leaning forward, his back muscles flexing in the moonlight. Jess stood silent behind him.

"I can't have this conversation right now, Jess," he muttered. "I really can't."

Jess's eyes drifted from the back of Sam's head, down to the small dimples at the base of his back, and over the smooth, taut curves of his perfectly formed ass.

"Then what do we do now, Sam?" she asked flatly. He was quiet for a second, before turning to face her.

"Fuck," he replied bluntly, his face expressionless. Jess raised an eyebrow.

Sam reached behind him, pulling a small, square foil packet from the top drawer of the dresser and handing it to her.

"Put it on me..."

…

**Brooklyn, New York**

A black '67 Chevy Impala raced along a dark, rain slicked road, flanked by abandoned warehouses and meat-packing plants.

"Damn it, Dean, where are you?" John Winchester muttered under his breath, scanning both sides of the street for his eldest son. Dean had vanished ten minutes ago, sneaking out of their motel room with John's gun, which was loaded with silver bullets.

They had been tracking the shapeshifter for days, and when they had discovered it was using one of the nearby warehouses as a hideout, Dean had insisted he would be the one to confront and kill it.

Dean had always followed his father's orders without question, but recently he had been acting impudent, and more than a little reckless. He would rush head-first into dangerous situations, half-cocked, like he had a death wish. John could feel that, sooner or later, he might lose the unquestioning loyalty of his eldest son, just as he had with his youngest. Sooner or later, Dean would follow Sam's lead, and go his own way...

John caught a glimpse of movement in the rear-view mirror and hit the brakes, the Impala jolting to a stop. He flung open the door and jumped out. Dean was hurtling towards him at great speed, running so fast it looked like his legs might snap off.

"In there!" Dean barked, panting for breath, pointing at one of the dilapidated warehouses with the gun in his right hand. John grabbed the shotgun lying across the passenger seat, slammed the car door shut, and following his son into the darkened building.

Dean raced through the ramshackle corridor, following the loud, echoing footfalls of the shapeshifter against the creaking floorboards. His line of vision was shaking from side to side, blurring, pulsing with the rapid beat of his heart. He gritted his teeth, rounding a corner and entering a huge open space with broken windows and huge pieces of metal machinery scattered around the floor. The shapeshifter was gone.

Dean crept into middle of the room, gun raised.

"Come out, you disgusting son-of-a-bitch!" he yelled. Before the sound had finished echoing around the huge space, Dean's legs flew out from under him. He hit the floor hard, the shapeshifter looming over him, silver eyes glowing in the darkness. There was a crooked, evil smile on the creature's face.

"I'm really going to enjoy this!" the creature snarled, bearing down on Dean.

Lifting his arm and squeezing the trigger in one quick, fluid movement, Dean saw the smile vanish from the shapeshifter's face as bullet hit its heart, the impact of the shot throwing its body backwards. The creature crashed into the floor, limbs splayed out, its face expressionless and eyes dead.

Dean got to his feet, standing over the creature's lifeless body, panting for breath. John rounded the corner, entering the room, shotgun raised. When he saw his son standing over the shapeshifter's body, he stopped in his tracks, lowering the gun. His mouth opened to speak, but was left hanging open in shock when Dean started kicking the dead body, stamping on the legs, which snapped under the force; crushing the ribs, dislocating the arms and breaking the neck.

John's eyes widened in disbelief as Dean got down on his knees, straddling the chest of the corpse. He started battering the creature, using the handle of the gun to hammer the face, cracking the skull, and he began crying out, wailing with rage as his fist flew down again and again.

_Crack! Crack! Crack! _

When it was finally over, Dean got to his feet, briefly inspecting his bruised and bloody knuckles, then turned on his heels and marched towards his father, tossing him the gun as he passed.He strode out into the cool night air and took a deep breath, wiping the blood away from his fist.

He'd thought that disobeying his father, going after the creature and venting his anger by killing it himself, might have quelled the inexplicable, raging fire inside of him. But he was wrong.

His mysterious hunger wasn't satisfied. He needed something else...


	4. Chapter 4

"**BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL"**

**chapter four**

Two hours later, Dean sat alone in the corner booth of a bar, two blocks away from the motel where he and his father were staying. The place was a little seedy, even for Dean, but the lights were low and the music was mellow – just the kind of place he needed to be tonight.

He slugged back his fourth tequila shot in a row and then immediately took a swig of beer from the bottle in his hand, slamming it back down on the table beside the other empty bottles. Leaning down and resting his forehead on his arm, he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. He could barely taste the beer anymore, but he wasn't drinking for the taste. He was drinking for the numb feeling it would inevitably bring - if only until tomorrow morning.

When he looked up, Dean caught the eye of the attractive brunette girl in the opposite booth. She was young and beautiful, dark-haired and olive-skinned, but most importantly, she was _alone_.

The basic, primal instinct to have sex switched on inside his brain. He was a man after all – a young, virile man with needs and urges just like any other. He had always had a pretty hearty appetite for sex, but recently it had cranked up a gear and he didn't know why. Not that he was complaining or anything. Maybe this was what he needed.

Just looking at her, thinking of the possibilities, he could feel himself getting a hard-on already...

The girl smiled briefly, her dark eyes lighting up, and she bit her pink-glossed bottom lip, glancing away in a faux-bashful kind of way. But Dean knew she wasn't shy. He could tell by the cut of the strapless green dress she was wearing; by the way she flipped her long, dark hair behind her shoulder; by the way she was attracting the attention of every red-blooded male in the bar.

She looked back again and smiled. _Definitely not shy_, Dean thought. _This could be interesting... _

Soon, they were pressed against each other, hand-in-hand, swaying back and forth in the centre of the floor. _Since I Don't Have You_ by Guns 'N' Roses was seeping out of the speakers, and the girl had her head against Dean's chest, her eyes closed. Dean had his arm around her, his hand on the small of her back. They continued to sway in the semi-darkness of the bar, watched in silence by bleary-eyed onlookers.

Dean wasn't usually the dancing type, but tonight he was both too drunk and too horny to care who was watching. He held her in closer so that his hard-on pressed against her thigh as they moved – just so everyone knew where they stood; just so that she knew what he expected from her, giving her the chance to back out if she wanted.

She kept dancing.

…

They drank, danced and flirted the rest of the night, and were the last ones to leave with the bartender, who was locking up at 2 a.m.

"You kids have a good night," he said knowingly, eyeing up the girl as she and Dean turned and staggered across the parking lot, arm-in-arm.

Dean stopped. For a second, he thought that the Impala had been stolen, before he remembered that his father had dropped him off at the bar and taken it back to the motel. Where they shared a room. Together.

"Ugh," Dean sighed.

"What?" the girl asked, peering up at him, bleary-eyed.

"We, um... can't go back to my room. My dad's there," he said, rubbing his eyes.

The girl looked around for a moment, and then smiled. "No problem," she giggled, grabbing Dean by the hand and leading him back across the parking lot, into a narrow alley beside the bar. They waited in silence until the bartender had finished locking up, and he walked past the entrance to the alleyway, jingling his keys and whistling to himself. He didn't see them in the shadows.

The girl giggled again, pulling Dean in close and stepping up on her tip-toes to reach his lips.

"Here?" Dean asked, pulling away from her kiss and arching one eyebrow.

"Why not?" she said, stepping back and sliding up onto a trashcan, opening her legs. She traced a line up the inside of her thigh, smiling up at him, biting her lip. She wasn't wearing any panties, Dean noticed, winning the bet he'd made with himself earlier. He stepped in closer, and the girl wrapped her legs around his, her hand going to his crotch and rubbing the bulge in his jeans. Dean leaned down, kissing her neck.

Her hair smelled like coconut, just like the shampoo that Sam used to use. Dean often still remembered things like that – little things about Sam that he thought he'd forgotten, and then something like a smell, or a taste or sound, would bring it all flooding back. And his heart would ache in his chest, sometimes so bad he thought it might explode...

Momentarily lost in thought, Dean found himself brought back to reality when the girl squeezed hard on his erect cock through his jeans.

"You want it?" He whispered in her ear.

"Mmmm..." she moaned in reply, her head falling against his chest as he stood upright, looking around him, making sure no-one was watching. Satisfied that they were alone, he unzipped his fly, unbuttoned his boxers and took out his dick. The chill of the night air against his skin gave him a slight, momentary shock, before he moved his hips forward, the tip of his dick grazing against the inside of her thigh.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Mmmm..." she moaned again. But she had stopped moving.

Dean lifted her head away from his chest. Her eyes were closed, and a light snore escaped her lips. She moaned again and snuggled in close against his body.

"Are you freakin' _kidding_ me?!" he choked, his eyes wide in disbelief. She snorted in reply, her arms going loose at her sides as she fell against him, her mouth open against his shirt. Dean quickly stuffed his still-hard cock back into his jeans and zipped them up, grabbing the girl just as she was about to slide off the trashcan and hit the concrete.

He scooped her up into his arms and trudged out of the alleyway with a disgruntled look on his face.

...

Dean waited at the side of the road for twenty minutes until a taxi showed up. He loaded the sleeping girl into the back seat and told the cab driver where to go – the address had been written inside her purse. He paid the taxi, and started walking the two blocks back to the motel, his hands in his pockets, breathing in the cool, fresh night air. The sound of sirens wailed far off in the distance.

He stopped at an all-night café and picked up a large cup of strong coffee, sucking on the straw the entire way back to the motel, and then tossing the empty Styrofoam cup into the trashcan outside the room. The lights were out.

He rapped lightly on the door, his bruised knuckles stinging a little.

"Dad?" he called, quietly. When there was no answer, He gently twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open, entering the dark room and clicking the door shut behind him.

There was no snoring. _Where the hell is he?_ Dean thought. The Impala had definitely been in the parking lot.

He flicked on the light switch. Stuck on the wall beside it was a yellow post-it note reading:

_Dean, I'm staying in the room next door. Just in case you wanted to bring a friend back. See you in the morning._

He ripped the note off the wall, scrunching it up and chuckling to himself. He knew exactly what his father meant by "friend," but clearly that wasn't going to happen tonight. He wasn't in the mood – after tonight's disastrous attempt to release his sexual tension – to go back out and trawl another seedy bar for another girl wearing no panties, just to bring her back and screw her, before tossing her out in the morning.

Besides, the possibility that his father might hear him having sex was almost too creepy for words.

Dean pulled off his jacket, throwing it over the couch, before pulling off his t-shirt, kicking off his shoes and socks, and then unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans, letting them fall to the floor and stepping out of them.

He glanced down at the protruding bulge in his black boxer shorts. He was so hard it almost hurt.

"Jesus," he muttered to himself. He tried to ignore it, turning on the TV and sitting on the edge of the bed, flicking from channel to channel. He looked at the screen, never really paying much attention, for almost an hour before boredom got the better of him. He picked up the remote and clicked off the TV, leaving the room in complete darkness, and lay back on the bed. He rubbed his tired eyes and sighed deeply.

Brushing his fingertips over his chest, he circled his nipple before tracing a line down his stomach, his fingers slipping into the waistband of his shorts. He rested his hand in the wiry fuzz of his pubic hair, leaving it there for a while as he stared up at the ceiling, listening to himself breathe.

He tried to think of something else, something to distract him, but there was no use in delaying this. It was going to happen. He needed it.

His hand moved down, his fingers wrapping around his hard, throbbing cock, starting to work it, nice and slow. He took a deep breath, shifting against the mattress. It felt good, better than he'd remembered. He'd always thought masturbation was for teenagers and computer geeks, but this was awesome; he couldn't believe he hadn't done it in so long...

He gripped himself tighter, jerking himself quicker and harder. The constriction of his underwear had become too much, and he used his free hand to push them down past his hips, slipping them off until they fell to his ankles. He shifted back on the bed until his head was on the pillow, and continued jerking, faster now.

A few drops of pre-come had run down the length of his cock and lubricated his hand, the soft, moist squelch of every stroke filling the dark, silent room.

He couldn't help but let his mind wander. Memories of Sam flashed through his mind – Sam, sneaking into bed with him at night, sliding his arm around Dean and falling asleep, their warm bodies pressed together, Sam's breath on the back of his neck...

It wasn't long before Dean could feel the impending orgasm hurtling towards him like a train. He stroked faster, his breath escaping in short, sharp gasps.

"Oh, fuck," he whimpered, his brow creasing, his head tilting back, and his back arching as he lifted his hips off the mattress. A tingling sensation shot through his limbs, the muscles in his stomach clamping up tight, before a huge sense of release flooded through him. A loud, animalistic roar shot up from deep inside him and escaped his open mouth, filling the room.

A long stream of thick, white semen shot out of him and up onto his chest, some making it as far as his chin. Two smaller spurts oozed over his fingers as he continued to stroke himself off, writhing against the sheets, moaning. The intensity was almost unbearable.

It lasted for several long, blissful seconds, before finally ebbing away.

Dean lay still for several minutes, in stunned silence, breathing hard. He leaned over and clicked on the bedside lamp, inspecting the mess he had made. There were puddles of pearly white fluid all over his chest and stomach, in his pubic hair, between his fingers. His stomach trembled as he chuckled to himself. He couldn't remember producing so much semen in his entire life. He wiped the little smear away from his chin and licked his finger in curiosity. It tasted salty, with a faintly sweet edge – like Sam's, he remembered.

_Sammy..._

A dull ache hit his chest. He lay back in the pillows, feeling the effects of the past-orgasmic daze, and let his mind wander to thoughts of Sam – no matter how much it might hurt.

Dean wondered if he would ever see his brother again. Life without Sam was becoming too hard to bear. It wasn't even like living at all, more like existing. It was like being stuck between Heaven and Hell. He knew there was a word for it, but he couldn't remember it.

_Sam would know,_ he thought, smiling bitterly to himself. He had to believe he would see Sam again. Otherwise, there was nothing to live for...

He wondered what Sam was doing right now. Did he have a girlfriend...? Was he out partying with friends...? _Nah!_ he thought. _Probably in the library, studying like the geek he always was._

Dean smiled, leaning over and picking his jeans off the floor, rifling in the back pocket until he pulled out a small, white piece of paper. He dropped the jeans and lay back, unfolding the note and staring at the words in the middle of the page, written in Sam's child-like scrawl:

_I love you._

He scrunched the note up in his hand and brought his fist up to his mouth, closing his eyes tight, gritting his teeth.

_Oh, God, Sammy... Why did you have to leave...?_

He unclenched his fist and unscrewed the paper, smoothing out the page and folding it up neatly again. He slid it back into the pocket of his jeans and then clicked off the bedside lamp and lay back on top of the sheets, the semen drying into his skin, drifting in and out of sleep.

Most of the night, he dreamt of Sam.


	5. Chapter 5

"**BETWEEN HEAVEN AND HELL"**

**chapter five**

John Winchester woke early, standing at the window and stretching his limbs, yawning. He gazed out at the massive expanse of the Brooklyn Bridge, glinting in the sun only a short distance away, and smiled. He was constantly on the road, moving from one place to another; he so seldom took the time to stop and appreciate the beauty of his surroundings.

After showering, he dressed and ate a protein bar for breakfast, washing it down with an ice cold glass of water. He glanced at his watch. It was 6:30 a.m.

John had arranged a meeting with his old friend Caleb in Philadelphia later in the day, and he and Dean would would have to hit the road soon if they were going to make it. That is, if Dean could manage to drag himself out of bed, after most likely drinking himself into oblivion last night. It had been happening most nights, lately.

He only hoped that whomever Dean had brought back to the room last night had departed by the time he went in there to wake his son.

After waiting as long as his impatient nature would allow – less than ten minutes – John slipped on his boots, laced them up and slung on his jacket. He trudged out of the room with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and handed his room key in at reception. After loading all of his belongings into the trunk of the Impala, John headed back across the parking lot towards Dean's room.

He paused at the door, listening, before turning the doorknob and stepping inside. He was hit by a wave of baking heat; the radiators were turned up full blast. The room was still in darkness, and smelled of booze, salty sweat and sex.

"Dean," John said. There was no reply, but he could hear his son's deep, rhythmic breathing. He went to the window and threw open the curtains, flooding the room with golden yellow sunlight, and turned to find Dean stretched out on the bed, on top of the sheets, still deep in slumber. He was naked as a jaybird, arms splayed out, with one leg hanging over the edge of the bed and a pair of black boxers dangling from his ankle. But most startling of all were the milky white spatters of dried semen decorating Dean's stomach and chest, and the unexpected vision of his son's erect penis, standing tall, stiff and proud.

John stood in stunned silence. He had never even accidentally glimpsed his son in the shower before, never mind anything as raw and exposed as this. He found himself rooted to the spot, oddly fascinated; for the first time in his life he was seeing Dean as a _man_, rather than just his son. He looked masculine and potent.

Strange, mixed feelings of fatherly pride, affection, and bittersweet nostalgia swirled inside John. Looking at Dean's body was like looking into a mirror twenty years ago – Dean had the same athletic build - the same strong, youthful physique John had once possessed.

But after all, nothing lasted forever.

_If only we could go back in time,_ John mused. _How different things might be..._

The cellphone in John's jacket pocket beeped. Dean stirred in his sleep, turning over onto his stomach and burying his face in the sheets.

John took out the phone and flipped it open, reading the message. His heart skipped a beat, and his eyes almost rolled out of their sockets as he widened them, just to be sure he had read it correctly. It was the message he'd been waiting for. It was a lead. Something that might finally help him find what he'd been looking for these past twenty-two years...

John clamped the phone shut and glanced up at the shape of his sleeping son – peaceful, blissfully ignorant; his hair ruffled and messy; his bare, smooth flesh glowing in the sunlight.

The next decision he made would be one of the toughest of his life...

…

**Stanford**

**Three Days Later**

"Sam!" Jess called as she rounded the door frame, dressed in her naughty nurse costume. "Get a move on, would you? We were supposed to be there like fifteen minutes ago."

She paced across the room, trying to clip her earrings in. Sam didn't answer.

"Sam! You coming or what?"

Sam peered around the door frame. "Do I have to?" he pleaded.

"Yes!" Jess smiled. "It'll be fun."

Sam smiled disbelievingly and sauntered into the room. Jess looked at the shirt and denim jacket he was wearing. "And where is your costume?" she asked.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head, and said, "You know how I feel about Halloween."

…

The bar had been transformed for the party, with ghosts, pumpkins and glowing lamps hanging everywhere. Sam, Jess, and Mitchell cowered together in the midst of all the excitement; half-empty drinks and a bowl of popcorn lay on the small round table they were gathered round.

"So here's to Sam, and his awesome LSAT victory," said Jess, toasting the two guys with a shot of tequila.

"All right, all right – it's not that big a deal," Sam sighed, raising his glass.

"He acts all humble, but he scored a 174," Jess retorted.

"Is that good?" Mitchell gargled, swallowing his shot. He rounded the table, appearing at Sam's right side.

"Scary good," Jess said.

"So there you go," Mitchell exclaimed. "You are a first-round draft pick. You can go to any law school you want."

"Actually, I got an interview here Monday," Sam replied, looking down at the table. "If it goes okay, I think I got a shot at a full ride next year."

"Hey," Jess said, grasping his arm. "It's gonna go great."

Sam grimaced. "It better."

"How's it feel to be the golden boy of your family?" Mitchell asked.

"They don't know," Sam shrugged. Jess threw Sam a knowing look, her lips pressing into a hard line.

"They don't know?" Mitchell repeated, incredulous. He stepped back and threw his arms open. "I would be gloating! Why not?!"

"Because we're not exactly the Bradys," Sam quipped, tossing a piece of popcorn at him.

"And I'm not exactly the Huxtables... More shots!" Mitchell said, putting his arm around Sam's shoulders, squeezing him, and then disappearing in the direction of the bar, chuckling to himself.

"No," said Jess.

"No! No, no!" Sam called over his shoulder, twisting in his chair. Jess grasped his arm again and he turned back to face her.

"Seriously," she said. "I'm proud of you. And you're gonna knock them dead on Monday, and you're gonna get that full ride... I know it."

"What would I do without you...?" Sam asked, smiling.

"Crash and burn," Jess joked. She grabbed him and pulled him in close, kissing him softly on the lips.

…

Sam's eyes flew open.

Something had woken him – a noise in the apartment. He jumped out of bed, careful not to wake Jess, and rubbed his eyes to clear the sleepiness away. He crept out of the bedroom and through to the darkened hallway, pausing in the doorway of the living room.

A window was open.

The floorboards creaked in the kitchen as a dark shape passed the open door at the end of the hallway, moving around towards the living room. Sam quickly moved inside and waited at the door, ready to pounce.

A tall figure entered the room, unaware of Sam's presence behind him. Sam crept up behind the intruder and threw his arm around his neck, but the guy was quick. He grabbed Sam's arm and twisted it round, swinging Sam away from him. Sam's leg flew up in a kick, but the figure's arm blocked it, and he rushed forward, shoving Sam backwards into the next room.

They flew towards each other, throwing punches, blocking each other's hits. Sam took a smack to the face, anger welling up inside him as he lunged forward once more, kicking. Again he was blocked, the tall figure grabbing him by the t-shirt and flipping him over. Sam slammed to the floor, landing on his back with a mighty crash.

The stranger leaned down, his hand around Sam's throat. His face became clear in the moonlight.

"_Whoa,_ easy tiger!" Dean said, grinning down at him.

Sam's stomach flipped. "Dean?" he gasped. Dean chuckled breathlessly.

"You scared the crap out of me!" Sam panted.

"That's because you're out of practice."

Sam threw his leg around Dean's back, kicking him to the floor and rolling on top of him in one lightning fast movement.

"Or not," chuckled Dean. "Get off me."

Sam got to his feet, hauling his brother up with him. "Dean, what the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

"Well, I _was_ looking for a beer," Dean said, reaching up and squeezing Sam's shoulders, smiling.

Sam looked into his brother's eyes. He didn't know how to react. He didn't want to look too pleased to see him; he didn't want Dean to suspect how much it had been killing him inside, being apart from him for so long. It was kind of a shock to the system, longing to be near him for so long and then suddenly having him standing here right of front of him. Sam didn't know whether to kiss him or punch him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he repeated, a little sternly.

"Okay, all right," Dean said softly. "We gotta talk."

"Uh, the phone...?" Sam said sarcastically.

"If I'd called, would you have picked up?"

A switch flicked on, filling the room with light. Sam almost jumped out of his skin when he turned his head, seeing Jess standing in the doorway, squinting at him and Dean through sleepy eyes. She was in her tiny Smurfs t-shirt and a pair of pink underpants.

"Sam?" she said. Dean glared at her, open mouthed. So Sam _did_ have a girlfriend.

"Jess, hey," Sam said, a little nervous. He glanced back at Dean, seeing him more clearly now in the light, and his breath caught in his throat. He was still heart-achingly good looking. Beautiful even.

"Dean, this is my girlfriend, Jessica," he said quickly.

"Wait," Jess said, stepping into the room. "Your brother, Dean?"

"I love the Smurfs," Dean interrupted, pointing at her t-shirt. He stepped away from Sam. "You know, I gotta tell you," he said to Jess. "You are completely out of _my_ brother's league."

"Just let me put something on," Jess said, looking past him at Sam.

"No, no. No, I wouldn't dream of it," Dean murmured. "Seriously."

An awkward silence fell over the room for a few seconds.

"Anyway," Dean continued, backing away from her. "I gotta borrow your boyfriend here, talk about some private family business. But nice meeting you."

"No," Sam said, suddenly scared of what might happen if he was left alone with Dean right now. The possibilities were both too terrifying and too delicious to contemplate.

He strode away from Dean and went to stand by Jess's side. "No, whatever you want to say, you can say it front of her..."

"Okay," Dean said. "Um, Dad hasn't been home in a few days."

Sam sighed. He might have guessed this would be about their father. "So he's working overtime on a Miller-time shift. He'll stumble back in sooner or later."

Dean smirked, staring down at the floor before lifting his head up to face Sam again. "Dad's on a _hunting_ trip," he explained. "And he hasn't been home in a few days..."

Jess glanced up at Sam. His face had turned serious. "Jess, excuse us," he said, still staring at Dean. "We have to go outside..."

Somehow, Sam knew his old life was about to come back and bite him on the ass.

But there was something else in Dean's eyes, too – a familiar, knowing look that drilled right into Sam's soul.

His eyes lit up. A raging heat was growing in the pit of his stomach, licking at his throat, burning. Every vein in his body was coursing with fire, his limbs tingling, every fibre of his being suddenly alive. Somewhere deep down inside, Sam could tell that the lonely, purgatory-esque existence he'd forced himself into was finally over.

Dean was never going to let him go again. And secretly, he was glad. No matter how much they had tried to fight it, and no matter how hard they might ever try to deny it, they knew their fate was to be together.

_Forever._


End file.
